


Empty Spaces

by Lokisgame



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e09 Firewalker, F/M, Fluff, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-08 05:10:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18887827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lokisgame/pseuds/Lokisgame
Summary: There was someone hovering over her, unidentified presence in the darkness.





	1. Chapter 1

She ran from the blinding light behind her, filling her with dread, the empty stage and the sense of helplessness. She was alone, rows of lights above, all directed at her, nowhere to hide, powerless. There was no laugh from the audience, just a hum, like high voltage power lines. She ran, stage right, through thick, dream-swamp, legs not carrying her fast enough…  
A gasp. There was someone hovering over her, unidentified presence in the darkness. Her hand flew up, swatting away the hands on her.  
"Shhh, it's me."  
Mulder. She relaxed, surrendering to gentle hands that woke her up, tucking in the thin, military issued blankets around her. She was in her room, in the small, makeshift apartment, that was their home for almost two week now. There couldn't be a worst time for her, to be locked in quarantine, then now, when all she wanted to do was get back on the horse and move on.  
"Another dream?" He asked, gently straightening the sheet.  
Scully nodded, scooting away, making room for him to sit. He pushed the covers away and perched himself on the edge of the narrow bed.  
Rubbing eyes and clearing her throat, she gathered her thoughts, details of the dream fading along with her calming heartbeat.  
"Why are you awake?"  
"I heard you kick the wall," he said softly, "after third time, I got up to investigate."  
"Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."  
Mulders' chuckle was completely humourless. "It's me who should be apologising, for getting us into this mess, again."  
"It's not that bad," she sighed, burrowing deeper in sheets, warming up. "No one got eaten by prehistoric bugs."  
"Or angry, extraterrestrial worms, yuck."  
"We still are who we are." She said, with a hint of a smile. "How are you feeling?"  
"I'm okay, but I wouldn't mind going for a run."  
"The treadmill doesn't really do the trick, does it."  
"My dream of becoming an astronaut got squashed. You?"  
"I'm fine, no cough, no sore throat."  
"And that other thing?"  
He paused, worrying the seam on his sweats. She knew he meant the abduction, cautious of pushing her. They talked very little about what little she could remember, and she appreciated the space. This question was honest, and she owed him an honest answer.  
"Better, though I don't think I will be able to sleep tonight. What time is it, anyway."  
"Little past 2am, wanna come watch tv? I'm sure we can find you some home shopping channel, in the narcoleptic tradition."  
"We can try." She said, and felt him get up.  
"Take the blanket and meet me on the couch." 

Someone at the base probably hated them right now. The couch was stained to the point of jungle-warfare camouflage, moaning every time you tried to sit down or get up.  
They shared, making room for each other in the mere 6 feet of space. She curled into a ball, taking the left armrest, Mulder took the right, remote in hand, changing channels with volume cranked barely above whisper.  
After third round through all 25 available channels, he finally asked. "Any preference?"  
"Whatever you want is fine," she mumbled back, focusing on the toasty warmth, calming her down.  
Mulder chuckled, stopping at the black and white screen. "Casablanca it is."  
In the midnight hush, familiar dialogue and story was as comforting to Scully, as the blankets or Mulders' weight. Letting her mind be distracted, it didn't take long to hear soft snoring from the other end.  
With arms folded over his chest, he looked slightly distressed, as if he had to hold himself together. They shared enough overnight trips for her to know he was a light sleeper, with occasional spells of insomnia, explained by cases keeping him awake. But never on their flights or long drives, or naps she saw him do that. Something in her stirred, to pry those arms away, smooth open his palms and hold him until he felt safe again.  
His feet twitched, head rolled on the armrest, lips moved. Scully caught nothing but a vague mumble, but it was enough to startle him awake. Their eyes met, catching her staring in the faint grey light off the tv.  
"What?"  
Scully shook her head lightly, shifting as he pulled himself together. Making room for her, Mulder turned to look at the tv, seemingly detached.  
"I never thanked you," she said quietly after a minute, drawing his gaze back on herself. "For everything, after I woke up."  
"My offer stands, whenever you're ready, we can talk."  
"I wish, but I still don't remember anything. Even dreams become vague."  
Mulder smiled reassuringly, then returned to the movie.  
"How about you?" She said, not falling for his quick dismiss.  
"What about me?"  
"You know it wasn't your fault."  
"I know," he muttered.  
Pulling his own blanket higher to hide from her, was a rare, defensive gesture. Scully could feel the wall appear, as he shifted away from her even farther, but since she expected it, she could fight it.  
Shifting with him, she made herself comfortable, slipping low and stretching her legs, draping them over his, bare feet dangling free, a bold move that won her a chuckle. Mulder tugged at his blanket and cover her with it, drawing her feet to his chest, warm hands against delicate skin. Mulder and boundaries didn't mix nicely.  
"I'm here too, if you need me." She said quietly, accepting the nod, light tickle and intimacy.  
They didn't see the fog or the begging of a beautiful friendship. They fell asleep, deep and dreamless, anchored to each other.


	2. Chapter 2

Wrapped in a blanket, she padded to the living room. The tv was playing quietly, and sure enough, Mulder sat on the couch, also wrapped in a blanket. They should really complain to someone about heating in this place.  
"What are you watching?"  
"Nothing," he sighed, head rolling on the back of the couch to look at her.  
Scully pulled the blanket tighter around herself and sat on the other end of the couch from Mulder. A man kept rambling about what looked like pyramids and some ancient, forgotten technology. It really was mind-numbing.  
"Don't you think it's weird?" Mulder said, good while later, not looking away from the tv.  
"What's weird?"  
"They had all that power, and all that's left of it, are these huge, useless, symbolic dung heaps."  
"That's a lot of stone for time to eat through," she replied with a hint of a smile. "In a few thousands years, when humanity finally manages to destroy itself, the only thing that will be left of us, will probably be the Hoover Dam"  
"Not the Hoover Building?"  
"I think that would be one of primary targets."  
Mulder sighed and shifted, falling over sideways, his head landing in her lap, a surprisingly comforting weight. Still, when he spoke, the sadness echoed through her bones, waking some instinct to soothe it away.  
"Doesn't that scare you sometimes?" He asked quietly, still facing away from her.  
"The end of the world?" She said, gently running fingers through his hair, soft and smooth, overdue for a haircut. "That's a little dramatic, even for you."  
"They probably never thought about it either, went about their lives, one day carving these huge blocks of rock, and then the next, they were gone."  
She paused, his mood and point finally hitting home.  
"Mulder."  
"I thought I lost you," he murmured, gaze fixed on commercial break, "if I would just get there 10 minutes sooner, If I wouldn't try so hard to get Barrys' story in the first place, just let them take him down."  
"Mulder, don't." She said softly, but floodgates opened and words were tumbling out.  
"Byers had this guy, who said that whatever they've done to you, it left toxic DNA in your blood, and I couldn't do anything about that, either, with your immune system shot and the doctors being clueless. So when they took you off life support, I thought." His voice broke, and she could feel him shaking. "I gave Skinner my letter of resignation, told him he could have it all, if he just…"  
Scully couldn't take it anymore, she leaned over, wrapping her arms around him, hiding them.  
"Shhhh," she crooned, rocking him gently, fighting tears. "None of that was your fault."  
"It was, if I didn't bring you the implant."  
"You wouldn't be, who you are." She let him take her hand, and whispered. "When Barry took me, I knew you were out there, looking, and it gave me strength to fight him, to leave a trail for you to find me."  
"Not fast enough."  
"You don't know that, you don't know what would have happend if you'd push him too hard, the man was insane," she said softly, twining their fingers together. "I can't remember what happened to me after the lights appeared, but when I was in the hospital, I felt you close, and it kept me from drifting away. Your strength brought me back. You brought me back."  
Seconds passed like hours while somewhere in another world, commercials sold washing detergent and hair colour to the masses. Mulder sniffed and she felt wetness on her fingers, pressed under his cheek.  
"The DNR," he rasped.  
"What about it?"  
"Change it," he said barely audibly, "don't make me go through that again."  
"I won't," she promised, brushing lips on his temple. "I'll change it, a soon as we're out of here, okay?"  
Mulder nodded, and she felt it was safe to sit up. He didn't let go of her hand. They watched tv, her fingers again combing through his hair, brushing away the darkness.  
"Would you have done it?" She asked after many, long minutes, looking down, to see if he's fallen asleep. He wasn't. Their eyes met, still wet, but softer. "Leave the FBI, even if I wasn't taken."  
"I would have to," he sighed, entranced by her touch. "Or I would've killed Krycek."  
"Who was that guy?"  
"No one knows," his eyes fell shut, "we might never find out." 

Scully soothed away the worry lines of his brow, but a thought kept coming back, filling his mouth with acrid taste that began somewhere in the pit of his stomach.  
_'She was returned to you,'_ the Cancer Man said.


	3. Chapter 3

Perhaps the jarheads wanted to freeze any potential disease along with them, but their complaints were finally heard and the place warmed up nicely, once their supervisors cranked up the heating. The tv hummed in the background, as per usual, when he thought she was gone for the night.  
"Mind if I join you?"   
He glanced over the edge of a paperback novel and smiled, sitting up to make room, as she came closer, folding herself on the couch. Their shoulders touched.  
"Still not sick of me?"  
"I could never be sick of you," she said quietly, then added, "another dream."   
Mulder closed the book and looked at her carefully.   
Though he didn't mind her freckled face, adorable without the concealing makeup, he couldn't help but notice isolation taking its' toll. She had trouble sleeping, tossing and turning through nightmares, waking with a start more than once, night after night. Walls in this place were paper-thin, there was no way to hide anything.   
"I think my dreams are brighter than the days in this place," she sighed, pulling the blanket closer around herself.  
"Yeah, I miss the sun."  
"This time it was snow," she replied, worrying the edge of fabric, "I was running barefoot through this vast wasteland, freezing cold."   
"It did snow today," he suggested softly, without challenge.   
"No, that was different, it felt like miles from home, stranded, like I could never go back."   
Her voice broke and she curled into a ball, knees pulled to her chin, like a frightened kid. The sight broke his heart and resolve, to let her heal on her own terms. He reached out and drew her into his side, arms around her as much as possible. Shoulders, knees, blankets, he took it all, and to his surprise, she went willingly, leaning into him. She was shaking.  
"There was no place to hide,” she whispered.  
"You're safe now," he crooned, stroking her back to rub some warmth into her, physical and emotional. He wanted to throw her a line, to pull herself back up. Avoiding the subject didn't help, so maybe it was time to talk.  
"Think about it," he said quietly, "you can never be so far, that you can't come back. The Earth is round, so sooner or later, you always start going back." She chuckled, sniffing lightly. "And besides, I'd come find you and bring you back, remember? Be it Alaska or South Pole, or Landover, Maryland, home of Washington Capitals."   
The laugh came easier this time and he smiled, resting his cheek on the crown of her head.   
"You promise?"   
"I promise."   
The shakes subsided and he felt her relax, into what little safe space he could provide.  
“Do you remember anything else?" He asked, not moving an inch, even to try to look at her, going solely by touch.   
"Like I said, just the sound," she replied after a beat, "buzzing, or maybe screeching, and then nothing."   
"It might come back in time."   
"But do I really want it to?" She murmured, leaning on his chest. "On intellectual level, I do, for the sake of the truth. But what if my mind locked it away for a reason? What can you tell me, from your research?"   
"Wouldn't that be like coaching a witness?"  
"I don't care, tell me."   
"Every story is unique, so it's hard to tell for certain, what's true and what's imagination running crazy. You've read Duane Barrys' file, that's one story, a little more on the gruesome side."  
"And we know we can't trust him completely."  
"There are others too, but it usually boils down to unidentified medical procedures, as recalled by the abductees, and some medical data gathered after their return, that can only partially verify the accounts, but mostly remains inconclusive. No one really knows why these tests are done, or for what purpose, or even how the subjects are chosen. There are just too many questions and too little will to find answers."  
"Do you think it has something to do with that thing Deep Throat died for?"   
"Can't say, there are some who believe that the military is behind the abductions. It's as good a theory as any, they sure have the resources."   
Silence stretched, as they sat curled up on the couch, without letting go, tense, little knot unraveling into something more comfortable. They stared at the movie, not really watching, listening to the other breathe, shift, live.   
A slowly dawning realisation hit Mulder softer this time, with a threat of loss of another kind. They spent almost three weeks together, alone, meeting on this khaki coloured couch each night, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like a life. Chasing truth was his calling, but did he really need to give this up?   
“What would you do, if I did put in for transfer to Quantico?”  
“Now?”  
“No, before, after we solved that case in Newark.”  
“That one,” Scully shuddered and shifted, owning his space a little more, “I don’t know, what would you do?”   
“BSU, ISU maybe, but mostly paster you with my crazy ramblings, maybe ask you to dinner sometime,” he teased, “get us tickets to a ball game perhaps?”  
“Mulder,” she laughed softly, incredulous as if it was one of his crazy theories. He didn’t mind, there was no outright no in that laugh.   
Sometime in the long silence, Scully yawned, her body gradually growing heavy in his arms, so Mulder took a chance. He pulled her down, very gently, ready to stop the moment he felt her pause, but she didn’t. She stretched with him, head on his chest, arm around him, as if to keep him from falling off the couch. They kicked the blankets around a bit, making sure all feet that needed cover, got it.  
“Sleep," he whispered, tucking in the blanket around her, "I’ll keep you safe tonight.”  
"That’s not a very politically correct thing to say."   
"No, but it's very human." He let his eyes fall shut, leaving the tv hum in the background.  
They shared the couch, finally warm.


End file.
